Well, This Isn't Going According to Plan
by greenho4
Summary: Korra is an undercover rebel with one mission: to participate in the 74th Hunger Games, win, and finish off President Amon once and for all. However, killing off the president won't be an easy task. Luckily, Korra has trained her whole life for this opportunity. She's ready for whatever comes her way. In fact, she's more than ready. Ready for everything except Asami Sato, that is.
1. Enter Korra, the Rebel from Twelve

**So, so, one day I was on tumblr and there was this pic of Korra as Katniss, and I thought, hey, why not? In other words, another random idea I had and thought I would put into motion. It's gonna be mostly first person pov, alternating between Korra and Asami, but there'll be some third here and there. Anyway, enjoy, and leave a review or something if you want more I guess?**

* * *

 **Chapter One: Enter Korra, the Rebel from Twelve**

Blue electricity crackles, breaking the stillness in the air. It slices through the darkness of the room, and a man sighs in relief, his face breaking out into a tired smile as he hunches slightly. His latest invention is working properly, and just in time for President Amon's inspection.

The current president of Panem is a mysterious, intimidating man. He wears a mask as he stands in front of the inventor.

"And this is it?" President Amon asks, his voice low and threatening. "There's nothing else you need to add to it, is there, Hiroshi?"

Hiroshi Sato shakes his head feebly. "No, sir."

President Amon is silent, and Hiroshi thinks Amon is satisfied with the results. However, Hiroshi soon discovers just how wrong he is.

"Then I have no more use for you," President Amon concludes, drawing out a gun and aiming it at the cowering inventor.

"But, President Amon," Hiroshi stutters, his eyes flickering around for an escape. Though he may be cowardly, Hiroshi is no dumb coward. He knows how to turn situations like these in his favor. He's not just an inventor; he's also a businessman.

"Surely, you'll still need me for upgrades and further inventions," Hiroshi bargains. There's a tool behind him that he can use, and Hiroshi slowly inches himself towards it. "This is just the first model I've built. I can build more, and make improvements—"

"All of which I can have Baatar do," President Amon interrupts.

Hiroshi frowns angrily, his pride wounded. "Beifong? What does Baatar Beifong know about my inventions? He's an architect, not an engineer!"

President Amon cocks the gun, clearly unimpressed with Hiroshi's futile attempt at saving his life. "He learns quickly. He'll figure it out. Besides, he's been much more loyal than you have."

"But I've served you my whole life!" Hiroshi argues. His hands reach for something cool and metallic. "I've been faithful to you, have I not? I've dedicated my whole life to building you these inventions of mine!"

"I know," President Amon says calmly. His gun does not waver. "Just like how I also know how you've been secretly taking money behind my back."

Hiroshi visibly flinches, and he knows there's no way out for him. He can tell the president had meant to kill him as soon as he entered the lab, and Hiroshi knows President Amon will have plenty of Peacekeepers surrounding the area. The president doesn't do half-assed jobs, after all.

However, Hiroshi refuses to back down, not without a fight, at least. He opens his mouth, to try to persuade Amon again, but the masked figure beats him to it.

"But you are right," President Amon says slowly. "You have been one of my most devoted servants, and it would be a shame to kill you for a mistake like this."

"Yes," Hiroshi agrees quickly. "It was just a mistake. I'll never do it again!"

"I will still need to punish you," President Amon continues, and Hiroshi freezes, dreading what his president will say next.

The president lowers his gun and stares right at Hiroshi. His mask seems to smile. "You have a daughter, do you not?"

...

The thuds of fists pounding harshly against wood and straw echo loudly through the small area, and sweat trickles down the side of my face as I bring my fists up once more.

"Isn't this enough for today?" the person across from me asks, his green eyes weary. He's a stocky younger kid, built for brawn more than brain, but he's got a personality that makes almost everyone love him.

I shake my head at him.

"Come on, Bolin," I taunt. "I need to keep in shape."

"You already are," Bolin whines, but obediently resumes his stance. In each hand, he holds a piece of wood, sloppily wrapped in straw, and the impromptu targets are being beat rather fiercely as I mercilessly rain punch after punch on them.

"Take a break, Bo," a new voice speaks up after a few more minutes pass. The newcomer is a serious-faced eighteen year-old—just a year older than me, but he acts like it makes all the difference in the world—with weird shark-like eyebrows and spiky black hair.

Bolin looks at his older brother gratefully as Mako exchanges his mining axe for Bolin's handheld targets.

I wordlessly continue my assault, acknowledging the switch with a mere nod of my head. It doesn't really matter to me who holds the targets, though Mako makes a harder target than his younger brother as he expertly ducks and weaves around my fists.

After another dodge, Mako goes on the offensive, swinging his hand and connecting with my shoulder—a move I hadn't anticipated but should have. I grunt as his punch hits home, taking the hit in stride as I retaliate with a punch of my own.

The two of us are an even match, and soon both of us are equally worn out, our chests heaving with exertion, sweat sliding down our faces. Without thinking, I use the back of my hand to wipe the sweat, tasting sweat and dirt as I accidently brush some against my mouth.

"Break time!" A voice booms out.

Mako and I halt our sparring as the leader of our group of miners, Tenzin, announces the beginning of break. Tenzin's this tall, bald guy with this arrow tattoo on his head who doesn't appreciate slackers or my sense of humor. He's in charge of my training, as well as overseeing the mining in this cave.

I immediately undo the bandages around my hands, wincing at how sore I am. Briefly, I wonder if I should have taken it a bit easier, but then shrug the thought away. As I told Bolin earlier, I need to be in top condition for the upcoming game soon.

"You're doing good, Korra," Tenzin says as he walks over. His eyes momentarily rest on Mako.

"I thought it was Bolin's turn to keep you company today," the bald man remarks, his eyes back on me.

"We switched halfway," Mako tells him. "I figured he would enjoy mining more."

At his statement, we look over to the cave walls, where Bolin is happily digging away at the dirt, humming an odd tune to himself. As if sensing our gazes, he looks up.

"What?" Bolin asks defensively as he sets down his axe. "Did I do something?"

I shake my head, grinning a little at his pouty expression. "No. It's just funny how you're one of the few people who enjoy this line of work."

"What can I say?" Bolin says, flexing his arms. "I'm a muscle kind of guy."

Mako rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed, which is no surprise. Mako's got a nice set of arms himself. Not that I would personally know. "Sparring also requires muscle."

"Yeah, but I'm not the one going in," Bolin points out. "Korra is, so she needs to practice, and let's face it, you're the better sparring partner between the two of us."

The mood is suddenly somber as we're all reminded of our reason for being in district twelve, in the dust-filled caves rather than in the familiar clean halls of thirteen.

Mako, Bolin, Tenzin, and I were raised in the secret District Thirteen, the district that none but the elite few in the government knew still existed. Unfortunately, among the elite few, our current president, President Amon, is one of them.

For decades, District Thirteen has hidden away a resistance focused on demolishing the current corrupt government—a tyranny, really—and they've tried attempt after attempt in assassinating the president. However, President Amon has gotten away unscathed each time, and now it's up to the latest assassin to complete the job: me.

According to Tenzin and Lin, who is this strict military officer back in Thirteen who likes to act like my mother sometimes—but, like, a bossy, _super_ cranky one—I was rescued by some resistance members when I was a few months old. I was originally born in District Four and my parents, Tonraq and Senna, were undercover resistance members working there. However, they were discovered and betrayed by my uncle, Unalaq, who turned them in before they had a chance to do anything. He was assisted by a government agent from District Three, a wealthy inventor named Hiroshi Sato. Let's just say I've got a _personal_ reason for wanting to join the hunger games this year.

"Korra," Tenzin calls my name, snapping me out of thoughts.

"Yeah?" I look at my trainer expectantly. Tenzin isn't one to call my name without reason. He's the type who's always careful with his words, choosing to speak only when necessary. He would be a wise master; that is, if he didn't also tend to lose his temper around me. Not that I can really blame him though. I'm not the best pupil out there.

"That's enough training for today," Tenzin says. "You need to rest before the big day tomorrow."

I roll my eyes. "Why though? All they're going to do is pretend to pick a slip of paper, and then just take out the one with my name already on it. I don't even have to volunteer."

Tenzin sighs loudly, closing his eyes in what I know is an attempt to resist himself from strangling me. It seems the stress is getting to him. I know it's getting to all of us.

"Just listen to him, Korra," Mako tells me, picking up a spare mining axe as he and Bolin return to mining.

Even though we're technically citizens of District Thirteen, the four of us have been living in Twelve for the last few years, disguising ourselves as residents here. Bolin, Mako, and I are posing as the children of Tenzin, and we're all working as miners, just like every other citizen here. It's a tedious job, but we're not too bad at it. It helps build up our muscle and stamina, and like Bolin mentioned, I'll be the one who'll need those the most.

Most of the time Mako and Bolin mine, while Tenzin trains me. We occupy an underground cave that belongs to the resistance. Rebels swarm the place, all of us posing as simple, poor miners from Twelve. However, all that changes this year. This year is the year I turn eighteen, and the last year I'm eligible to enter the games. We won't need to keep up pretenses anymore if all goes according to plan. And I'm going to make sure everything _does_ go according to plan. The Careers from One, Two, and Four won't be able to hold me back. I've been trained by the toughest fighters out there, from Lin Beifong, daughter of Toph Beifong who won her game at the age of twelve; to Tenzin, who is the youngest son of Aang and Katara, the past victors from Twelve; to Zuko, the former president of Thirteen.

In fact, it was Toph, Zuko, Aang, Katara and Katara's brother Sokka who originally started the rebellion, under Zuko and Aang's leadership. However, they never made it as far as the Capitol, and on one attempt, Aang and Sokka were forced to retreat to District Four, where they met my parents, who were quick to join their cause. So, yeah, this mission of mine is definitely personal. I'm going to make President Amon pay, and he'll be paying with more than just his life.

.

The day is over, and night falls fast in District Twelve, not that it makes much of a difference to us since we're underground all the time anyway. Mako, Bolin, and I clean up our equipment and follow the other miners back up to the surface.

We eat a quiet dinner, and I can tell everyone is tense. Tenzin keeps sighing to himself, while Bolin is more talkative than usual. Mako just sits there, poking at his food.

"I'll be fine, guys," I say, trying to reassure them, but it seems to be the wrong thing to say.

"Fine?" Mako snaps, as if he had been waiting for his cue to talk. He slams his spoon down. "How is going into that bloodbath _fine_? There's a very high probability that you'll die, Korra!"

And, here we go again. Mako and I don't really see eye to eye on everything, especially when it comes to my participation in the Hunger Games. He thinks it's his job to protect me or something, but I'm perfectly capable of doing that myself. Why else did I train my entire life for this, if I'm just going to sit around and do nothing?

"Mako, we've been over this," I growl, also putting down my spoon with more force than Tenzin would like.

Tenzin mutters something and excuses himself. Bolin laughs nervously, looking back and forth between us.

"Come on, Mako," Bolin pleads. "We know Korra's got this. She'll be totally fine. Lin will be watching her, right? And, like, the other Beifongs, too!"

Mako ignores his younger brother, focusing on me only. "You know anything can happen in there, and we won't be able to help you. You should back out. No one will blame you for doing so. We can always wait for someone else."

"There won't _be_ someone else!" I yell, standing up and knocking over my chair. "Every year Amon is president, thousands die from lack of food, or medicine, or water, or whatever! Or, they're killed simply for existing! Amon has his own, twisted agenda, and he'll kill people every single year just to make a statement!"

"Yeah, but it shouldn't be _your_ responsibility to kill him!" Mako shouts back, also standing up. Bolin seems to shrink into himself as he opens and closes his mouth, debating whether to interfere.

"If not mine, then whose?" I challenge Mako. "Who else will step up and take on this role? There isn't anyone else, and you know that! There's no one more prepared for this! You can't sit in the shadows forever, waiting for someone to do something when you yourself won't even do it!"

"Then I'll do it!" Mako slams his hand onto the table, causing Bolin to jump. "I'll go in your place! It's not too late to do that! You can stay here and help Tenzin, and I'll enter the games! I'll volunteer myself tomorrow—"

"I won't allow that!" Tenzin interrupts fiercely. Mako and I stare at him in surprise, wondering when he came back. Tenzin glowers at us.

"There's no point in changing our plan this far out. The Reaping is tomorrow, and it's too late to try and bribe people to replace the boy's glass bowl with slips with Mako's name. Besides, it's like Korra has said. She's trained her whole life for this. You haven't, Mako."

"But still," Mako says. "Korra could get killed—"

"And I won't let that happen!" Tenzin snaps. "Do you think Lin and I will just sit about idly and let that happen? If you're all finished with dinner, then get some rest, especially you, Korra. You have a big day tomorrow."

Mako and I glare at each other, but we don't say anything.

Tenzin nods to himself, giving us his last directions for the night. "Mako, you are _not_ going to do anything reckless, understand? And Bolin, get out from under the table. And Korra—" Tenzin's eyes soften as he turns to me. "Please be careful out there."

I nod. "I will, Tenzin."

.

As confident as I was last night, I'm not so keen today. All the anger from yesterday has been replaced by raw nerves and I rock slightly as I stand next to all the other eighteen-year-old girls in Twelve. The Reaping goes over quickly. The escort for District Twelve this year is none other than Lin herself, and she's as grumpy as ever.

"Korra," she greets me stiffly as she ushers me and the sixteen-year-old boy tribute onto the train.

Lin and Katara go over the basics of the games and our roles and what we should expect, and I'm only half paying attention since they've already drilled all this into me before. The boy looks about fearfully, but if he expects any sympathy or pity from me, he's going to be waiting a long time. Fortunately for him, Katara is much more caring than Lin and I. She leans forward and whispers something to him. It seems to calm him down somewhat as he nods glumly, though he still trembles in his seat.

"Well, anyway, that's about it," Lin says gruffly. She dismisses us to our rooms and the boy immediately flees, looking like he's going to throw up or cry. Katara goes after him, leaving me alone with the one and only grouchy Lin Beifong.

"I feel bad for him," I say after he leaves.

Lin shrugs. "That's why you should make sure you get your job done, kid. Once Amon is gone, we can take over and get rid of these games once and for all."

Lin is right, of course. I know I won't be able to protect everyone in the Arena. The only way to make sure no one must die pointlessly in these brutal games is to stop the games from happening in the first place.

"Get some rest, Korra," Lin says, patting me on the back as she walks by. I wonder if she knows it's the same thing Tenzin said to me last night.

.

Though the smart thing to do is get some sleep, I can't seem to be able to fall asleep as I lay in bed, staring at the scenery flashing outside. The train will arrive at the Capitol tomorrow, and I'll have to be on my best behavior. My hands curl into fists as I think about facing President Amon later.

There's a rustling sound and someone slips a piece of paper under my door. I grab it and open it up. It's a list with all the tributes from each district. Lin must have somehow gotten the information from her brother-in-law.

Deciding that I'm not going to sleep any time soon, I take the paper and scan it, trying to memorize names and potential allies.

The Careers from District One and Two seem like the usual: tough, deadly fighters who won't spare me a second thought before they kill me. However, the last two Careers, from Four, catch my attention. I read their names over and over in my head.

 _Eska and Desna_.

Also known as my cousins.

I'd be lying to say I'm not surprised to see their names here. After their father—my uncle—turned in my parents, Unalaq was given a high position in Four, and he's been working closely with Amon ever since. Or that's what Tenzin told me.

And yet, somehow Unalaq's children found themselves as tributes for the game. I can't imagine them deciding to volunteer. But then again, I _can_. They're probably as heartless as their father, though I've never met them in person. Thankfully, they don't know who I am, so they won't purposely interfere in my mission.

I continue down the list, the names blurring in my mind. No one else catches my attention, and I take a deep breath, mentally preparing myself to kill people in a couple weeks.

My eyes snap open, and I look at the paper again, my eyes moving up the page until it reaches District Three, one of the poorer districts.

I close my eyes and open them again, and it's still there, the name I had ignored the first time, around.

The male tribute from District Three is some guy named Tahno, but that isn't what I'm paying attention to. No, it's the other name, on the female tribute side. It's a name I know only way too well.

Her last name is Sato, the same as Hiroshi Sato.

It seems revenge will come sooner than I expected.


	2. A Turn of Fate

**Did someone say more? Cuz here it is!**

* * *

 **Chapter 2: A Turn of Fate**

 **[Asami]**

The light to my father's office is on, illuminating the normally dark halls. That's the first thing I notice as I enter my home, the shadows flickering ominously as I enter. The second thing that catches my attention is the smell of food coming from the kitchen.

 _That's weird_ , I think as I close the door softly behind me. My father usually works late into the night the day before the Reaping, so I'm confused when I'm met with my father standing in the kitchen, opening a bottle of what looks like one of his expensive wines.

"Do we have guests?" I ask, startling him. He nearly drops the bottle, but stops himself in time as he turns around to face me.

"Asami, you're back," my father says, smiling broadly, but there's something oddly fake about it. The lines on his face are taut with hidden tension, and his face is a mix of worry and guilt, though I can't be too sure.

"Hey, Dad," I greet, wrapping my arms around him. My father returns the hug, squeezing a bit too tightly.

"No guests," my father says. "I just thought it would be nice to have a meal together."

I raise an eyebrow at him. My father isn't one to spontaneously do these sorts of things. He's usually too busy to even come home.

"Is something wrong?" I ask hesitantly, but my father immediately waves the question away.

"No, no, definitely not," he says. "Why don't you go take a shower while I finish dinner?"

I nod, deciding to let it slide for now, but his strange behavior bothers me. I wasn't even aware my father could cook. And, even if he could, he always asks the chefs and servants to prepare our meals. Why would he go so far as to prepare the meal himself?

.

When I'm finally out from the shower, my father has finished setting up the table. There are a few simple dishes—the only ones he would know how to make without ruining it on the first try—but I appreciate his effort.

We sit down and begin to eat, exchanging tales of how our days have been. I talk about my classes, while my father goes over some of his latest inventions. It's a comfortable atmosphere despite my previous misgivings, and I find myself relaxed and slowly drifting off to sleep.

"Asami, you've been going to your defense classes, right?" my father suddenly asks.

I jerk my head up to look at him, trying to figure out what he's thinking. "Yes."

He nods his head distractedly. "That's good. That's very good."

I set my fork down, no longer able to wait for answers any longer. The previous mood is gone, replaced by one of apprehension and worry. "Dad. Obviously, something is bothering you. What is it?"

My father pretends not to hear as he continues eating, but I know he did since his movements are slower, more carefully placed. I wait, knowing he'll answer eventually, like he always does.

After a few more seconds pass, he sighs and looks up. "I'm just worried about tomorrow."

I say nothing, waiting for him to elaborate. The Reaping happens every year, and there's always a chance I'll get chosen, but he's never been visibly concerned until now.

"What if you get picked, Asami?" my father asks. "I don't think I can bare to lose you, too."

"Dad, relax," I say. "The chances are slim, and you know that."

My father hums, but it doesn't sound like one of agreement. I place my hand on top of his.

"And even if I did get picked, I promise I'll come back out as the victor," I continue. "It's like you say all the time. No one crosses a Sato."

My father smiles faintly. "Right you are about that, my dear. But the Arena is a deadly place. Your fighting skills alone won't get you through."

"Don't stress about it," I say. "The Reaping isn't until tomorrow. Why don't we enjoy the rest of the night while we can?"

My father nods agreeably, though I can tell he isn't completely placated. However, neither of us continue the topic, choosing to talk about other, more light-hearted things.

.

The next morning, my father is up before I am, brewing a cup of coffee. His back is to me as he thumbs through a pile of papers, muttering something under his breath. He's dressed neatly in his best suit, with his hair combed and beard trimmed.

"Morning, Dad," I say.

"Good morning, Asami," my father says, putting down his papers with what looks like reluctance.

"Am I interrupting your work?" I ask, eyeing the now disregarded stack by his elbow.

"No," my father says, hastily shoving the papers out of sight, but not before I catch a glimpse of what looks like designs for some kind of weapon.

My father clears his throat, drawing my attention away. "Why don't we get some breakfast, and then we can head over to the square together?"

I nod. "Sounds good."

The two of us eat a quick breakfast before heading over to the square, where the Reaping takes place. In Panem, the Reapings are staggered throughout the day, occurring at half-hour intervals, starting at nine in the morning in District One, and ending at two-thirty in the afternoon in District Twelve. Since we live in District Three, our reaping time is one of the firsts, at ten, which means we must be present and ready at the square at nine, an hour beforehand.

Despite being the District that provides electronics and technology to the rest of Panem, most of the citizens of Three are poor. We're the second poorest district, only beaten by Twelve. As my father and I make our way towards the square, I spot disheveled-looking people shuffling about, their eyes downcast, each dreading who will be picked on this eventful day. Most of the residents here look like they haven't had a decent meal in forever—which is most likely true. A few cast sidelong glares at my father and me, when they think I'm not looking, but I'm not one to miss these details. I can't really say their hatred is misplaced, though.

My father and I are the lucky ones. When he was younger, my father caught the interest of President Yakone, who asked my father to build certain things for him, paying him heftily while doing so. After both President Yakone and his oldest son Noatak died in an accident, President Amon rose to power. He was much more generous with his funding, helping my father to become the wealthiest person in Three. There isn't a single person in District Three who doesn't know the name Sato.

My father and I finally make it to the lines, and we stand facing each other, knowing we must go our separate ways now.

"I'll see you later, Dad," I say softly.

My father hugs me close to him, planting a kiss on my forehead. "Good luck, Asami."

He pulls away, and his eyes are watery.

"Are you going to cry?" I joke, but instead of a laugh, I'm met with my father's grim face.

"Asami, I just want you to know that whatever happens, I love you."

I nod, confused, but return the words, anyway. "I love you, too, Dad."

My father heaves a heavy sigh and finally breaks away. His eyes are sorrowful, but before I have a chance to ask, or even ponder about it, I'm nudged back into line by a Peacekeeper.

.

 _Asami Sato_.

My name continues to travel across the plaza and there's stunned silence from the crowd—an event like this is so rare it's practically extinct in a District as poor as Three—and for a moment, it seems as if time stands still.

I blink a few times, slightly in shock, because that was _not_ my name that just came from the escort's mouth. Someone shoves me forward, and unthinkingly, I follow the motion, soon finding myself standing in front of the crowd of District Three, next to the boy tribute. He offers a hand to help me onto the stage, casually running a hand through his hair while he does so. He smells strongly of perfume, as if he had been planning on going on a date rather than to a Reaping, and, like all the other wealthy children of Three, he's dressed in a suit and adorned with expensive jewelry.

Despite my better judgement, I accept his hand and let him pull me up, where I can get a good look at every single person gathered today. The entire population of District Three.

And all of them are staring at me.

In the distance, something catches my eye. It's my father. Though his head is cast down, so I am not able to fully make out his face, I know it's him by his clothing. No other adult—excluding the mayor and his family—would wear such a lavish business suit on the day of the Reaping.

"Well, let's give a round of applause to our two tributes this year!"

There's applause, and it's a lot louder than other years, though still not as loud as the ones in One, Two, and Four. I guess since the boy—vaguely, I recall the name Tahno—and I are part of the upper-class, the majority of Three aren't too sad to see us go.

After the mandatory applause dies down, the mayor forces Tahno and I to shake hands. Tahno's hands are sweaty, a sure sign that he's nervous despite his looks. I quickly wipe my hands on my dress as discretely as I can even as the mayor begins to ramble about the Treaty of Treason. I'm barely paying attention to his little speech, still dazed about the sudden turn of events, but I somehow manage to force a smile on my face. From now on, I'll have to be even more careful about my appearances. It'll be the only way to get me sponsors, especially since the Capitol, excluding the president, have taken a dislike to my father, with a lot of them claiming that he's trying to bribe his way in. Not that my father would ever do that. As wealthy and materialistic as he is now, my father has always been a people person, and he likes it here in Three. It's where he grew up; a lot of people tend to forget that he used to live in the slums, too.

The mayor finishes his speech, and the anthem plays. We all wait respectfully for the anthem to end, and then Tahno and I are ushered to the Justice Building.

.

It's a grueling few minutes in the Justice Building. Tahno and I are separated into our own rooms, where we wait for visitors. I sit on an extravagant chair, staring at nothing, knowing the only person to visit me will be my father.

How had I been chosen? My name was just a small percentage among _thousands_. I had better luck accidently being killed by one of my inventions than being picked as tribute.

As I'm figuring out my fate, the door opens, and my father walks in, his footsteps slow. He takes a seat on a chair opposite of me, avoiding my eyes as he chooses to clean his glasses with the cloth he always keeps in his pocket.

The silence stretches on, with neither of us knowing what to say. What _do_ you say to your only parent, knowing you are about to be sent off to die? Oh, sorry, but I guess I lucked out? How lame of a reasoning is that?

My father finally looks up, and there are tears in his eyes. His pants have wrinkles from where he twisted them earlier, and even now, his hands are at fists by his side.

"Asami…"

My father stops, lowering his eyes. He swallows, and then meets my gaze again. "Promise me you'll try your best?"

"Of course," I agree, reaching for his hands. He doesn't resist, holding onto me tightly.

After another pause, my father speaks up again. "I'm so sorry, Asami. This isn't what I wanted."

"Dad, this isn't your fault," I reassure him instantly. "It was just bad luck on my part."

So much for not using that excuse.

My father shakes his head furiously, muttering angrily to himself. He sighs and releases my hands, reaching into his breast pocket. From its depths, he procures a pin of sorts. He hands it to me, and I notice it has the logo of our company Future Industries on it.

"You're allowed a keepsake of sorts into the Arena," my father explains. "I thought you would like this, as a reminder of home."

Unable to stop the sudden rush of feelings, I choke back a sob, and my father awkwardly places a hand on my shoulder.

There's a knock on the door, and a Peacekeeper enters. "Time's up."

My father and I stand up, getting in one last hug.

"I love you, Dad," I say, not wanting to let go.

"I love you, too, Asami," my father whispers in my ear. "Please don't ever forget that."

The intimate moment is over, and there's a large gap between us, soon to grow even larger. My father nods, and he lets the Peacekeeper escort him outside.

The door closes, leaving me alone with my thoughts once again. As I start to think, something comes to the forefront of my mind, a nagging feeling, like I'm missing something obvious.

My father's words echo in my ears: _I'm so sorry, Asami. This isn't what I wanted._

What had he meant by that?

.

It's a short ride to the Capitol, a little over three hours. Tahno and I are shown to our quarters, though I don't really see the point of having a room here if we'll be arriving at the Capitol soon.

Our escort, a bald man with tanned skin and a gold chain from his nose to his ear, introduces himself as Aiwei. He asks if we have any questions, and Tahno and I look at each other, before shaking our heads. He shrugs and dismisses himself, leaving me alone with Tahno.

As soon as the adults are out of sight, Tahno turns to me, and I brace myself for a conversation.

"Hey," Tahno says, smoothing his hair back with one hand as his other hand reaches for a handshake. I avoid it, choosing to cross my arms, uninterested. We've already shaken hands once; there's no point in doing it a second time.

"The name's Tahno," he continues, undeterred by my obvious lack of interest. He retracts his hand, though he still wears that annoyingly confident smirk on his face. "And who might you be?"

"You heard my name being called," I say.

It isn't a question, and Tahno knows it. He shrugs and sidles up to me. "Yeah, but it's always polite to ask for a lady's name."

I roll my eyes. "We're not here on a date, Tahno. We're being sent off to die, remember?"

Tahno shrugs again. "That's true. But, hey, since we're going to die soon anyway, we might as well have a little fun, right?"

"And, trust me," Tahno's voice drops lower as he comes even closer to me, his breath hot on my neck, "I can be plenty of fun."

I resist the urge to grimace. "I'm not interested in doing anything with you. Besides, who would even want to be with someone like you? I'd rather date the girl from Twelve."

This seems to hit a nerve as Tahno steps back, looking highly offended. "The kids from Twelve have _nothing_ on me! They're all so dirt-poor, anyway. What can they possibly have that I don't?"

"I mean, look at me," Tahno says, back at my side again. His hand casually reaches for me. "I was raised in the same area as you. We're both from the wealthy families. I'm much more civilized and educated than those losers from Twelve. I'm the only one who understands—"

Tahno's sentence is cut off as I grab his hand, twisting it painfully. He lets out a yelp, but I don't let go.

"I'll only say this once," I hiss, "If you touch me again, I'll make sure you have more to worry about than just a couple of bruises."

I let go, and Tahno scampers a few feet away, cradling his right hand as he yells, "You're not supposed to hurt me before we get into the Arena!"

I glare at him, and he seems to get my message well enough as he runs off without another word.

Once he's gone, I let out a breath I wasn't aware I was holding. Things aren't looking so bright right now, but I touch the Future Industries pin on my dress, reminding me that I must give it my all, if not for my own sake, then at least for my father's sake. I can't abandon him; I'm the only family he has left.

The train continues to rumble along, flashes of peaceful scenery rushing by the window, oblivious to my worries. I sigh, and touch my pin again, this time with less sorrow and more determination.

No one crosses a Sato.


	3. Meetings

**Alright, chapter 3 is here! More alternating viewpoints... N** **ot much happens in this chapter, but some characters do get to meet each other...**

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Meetings (Some by Chance, and Some, Not Really)**

Light flickers on in the president's dimly-lit office, and President Amon stands at his desk, towering over a sheaf of papers. It's the list of tributes for this year, and President Amon slowly scans it, watching for any conspicuous names. According to his informants, there will be a rebel spy among the tributes this year, and President Amon refuses to let one measly spy ruin his plans.

As he thinks, the president rubs the side of his face, at the aching scars left over from the accident years ago—the so-called accident that the president knew had been part of the resistance's plan. Though none of the culprits had been caught, the president knows it had to have been Aang, the now deceased Victor of Twelve. Of course, once he had found out, he couldn't have simply killed off Aang or his family. Aang and Katara, as well as their two children, had many fans among the citizens of Panem, and President Amon had no wish to start a revolt.

The president sighs, thinking of his father and his brother, who has no idea of Amon's true identity. As he is swept away by his memories, the president is glad he is in his office. For it is inside his office where the president can be his true self. He can go back to being the former president's eldest son, and the destined, respected leader of Panem. Noatak knows the people of the Capitol dislike Amon; they had wanted a son of Yakone to be president, but Tarrlok had been too young, and Noatak, well, Noatak is dead.

The president shakes his head a little, trying to erase the feeling of nostalgia and wanting. The past must stay in the past, even if it means Noatak will never rule openly.

Noatak continues to look at the tributes' names, and his gaze halts briefly at District Three, where a certain female tribute's name is printed clearly.

There's a knock on the door, and the president sounds his permission. The door opens, and Noatak's second-in-command, the Lieutenant, steps in respectfully. If he is surprised to see his president without the mask, he does not show it.

"Hiroshi's daughter is here, sir."

Noatak nods absentmindedly, staring at the paper in his hands for another minute, before placing it back down onto his desk. He opens a drawer and retrieves a mask, fitting it snugly onto his face with the expertise of years of practice. His time as Noatak, Yakone's son, is over. It is time for President Amon to reign over Panem again.

"Send her in."

...

We're two hours away from the Capitol when I finally creep out of my room. The boy tribute—seriously, what was his name again?—is nowhere to be seen, which I don't mind. The less I talk to him, the less I'll be attached, and the easier it will be to resist helping him in the Arena.

"Are you finally awake?" Lin greets me grumpily, nursing a cup of coffee.

"Probably more awake than you," I retort, and Lin glares at me.

"Good morning, Korra," Katara says from where she's sitting at the dining table. I mumble out a reply as I join her, stuffing an assortment of eggs, toast, and meat into my mouth. Lin gives me a look of disgust before she walks off, probably to secretly check in with Tenzin and the rest of the resistance.

I'm pretty sure the Capitol bugs everything, but one of the men on our side, Lin's brother-in-law Baatar, had the foresight to build equipment to counter that. Speaking of Baatar and the Beifongs, it still amazes me how Lin has been able to escape President Amon's notice all these years. As a Beifong, she's a public figure, and yet she's also a central power in the resistance. I've never asked her about it, though, given her personality.

Katara is saying something, and I focus back on her.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't really paying attention. Can you repeat that?" I ask, still shaking off sleep. Katara smiles patiently at me, although it's a sad one.

"The recordings of the Reapings are available for you to look at," Katara repeats. "I suggest you take a look at them before we arrive."

"Right." It just sounds like more work to me, but I know Katara has a point. It's best I gather as much information about my enemies as I can before I face them.

.

After my late breakfast, I find myself sitting down on a sofa, diligently watching a screen and making mental notes.

Though I already have a list of the tributes' names, the recording provides me with an easy review of everyone, this time with added imagery to the names. The video starts to play, and I take a deep breath, ready to analyze each tribute.

The Careers this year don't look too bad, but I know looks can be deceiving. From District One are a pair of eighteen-year-old's. The taller of the pair is a girl, P'Li, and she strides confidently onto the stage. Next to her, hand in hand, is a bald male tribute by the name of Zaheer, who looks like he'd rather be a monk than a murderer.

In District Two, there's a crippled seventeen-year-old named Ming-Hua. If I hadn't known she was from Two, I would have thought nothing of her. Even though she's at a physical disadvantage with two lame arms, there's a certain predatory look in her eyes that forces me to think twice of crossing her. Following close behind her is the mustached eighteen-year-old Ghazan. He's a muscular guy who looks as if he could throw me a few feet into the air if I'm not careful.

I file all this away and get ready for the next tribute—the Sato girl from Three. _This_ is what I've been looking forward to all night.

The boy tribute is first. He's a cocky seventeen-year-old, full of arrogance and oozing of high-class wealth. I won't be sad to see him gone. The escort for Three, Aiwei, takes out the girl's slip and her name rings across the square. I can see people turning heads, and there's a tall girl looking a little dazed. She's dressed elegantly, with long black hair—and is that _makeup_?

I scoff aloud. Of course, only someone like Asami Sato would think—and be able to afford—to wear makeup on Reaping day. She's the very definition of a rich girl from the inner districts.

My hands curl into fists by my side as I watch someone push her from behind. She stumbles but catches herself and makes her way onto the stage. All this time, while I've been living in the shadows, with only a pair of names to call parents, she's been living in extreme comfort in the safety of President Amon's net. Well, all that is going to change soon.

She'll be having a taste of what us poor folks in Eleven and Twelve suffer through all the time: _pain and humiliation._

Asami gives the crowd a timid smile that soon transforms into a broad one, which I know will immediately earn her a spot among the Capitol's hearts. I growl despite myself at her act, knowing she's a hundred times more likely to draw in favors than someone like me.

Still, favors or not, she won't be able to last long in the Arena.

I'll be coming for her.

.

The train has finally stopped, and I peer outside, where a large crowd of people are gathered. They're all dressed in Capitol fashion: splashes of shiny metallic fabrics and vibrant colors all over their bodies, and hairs styled in the most ridiculous of designs.

I would have laughed, if I wasn't painfully aware of my role here. Lin places a firm hand on my shoulder.

"Time to put this show on the road," Lin says, and I nod, putting on my best charming smile.

The crowd claps politely as the male Twelve tribute and I step outside of the train, into their full view. Their dull chatters turn into applauds and cheers as they catch sight of me, though I have no idea why.

"You're quite something, you know that?" Someone appears to my right and I glance over. She's an older woman, dressed in Capitol fashion, though clothing aside, she's still relatively normal.

"Su," Lin grunts, handing me and the male tribute off to the woman.

The woman, who I'm assuming to be Suyin Beifong by her resemblance to Lin, sets the two of us in front of her, letting the crowd get one more look at us, before dragging us away.

"First things first," Suyin says, leading us into a building. "I'll be your stylist. My name's Suyin Beifong."

The two of us say nothing as she gives us a onceover, her lips pursed in thought.

"Both of you will need makeovers. That's always the first thing we need to work on here. We need to make you two presentable, though, Korra, dear, you won't be needing too much work."

I frown. "Uh, thank you? I think? I'm not sure I want to be compared to Capitol standards of beauty."

Suyin laughs, clapping her hands together. "Oh, I know what you mean. Sometimes the fashion here is questionable. Don't worry though, I won't be too wild with you two."

I raise an eyebrow at her, skeptical of her claims, and we manage to catch each other's gazes. There's an unspoken conversation between the two of us as we both decide to act like complete strangers and keep the resistance stuff out of view for now.

Two people come up to us as Suyin stops in front of a couple of doors. One of them is a girl who looks younger than me, though only by one or two years. She's dressed in green, with heavy metallic plates around her neck. She resembles Suyin, and I vaguely recall that Suyin has a daughter. The other person is a boy who looks only a little older than me, with long hair partially dyed green covering half of his face. Like Suyin and Opal, he's dressed in rather modest Capitol clothing, though he has an eyebrow piercing to make up for his blandness.

"Now, if you two would follow my assistants. Daniel, Huan here will take charge of you for now, and Korra can come with Opal and me."

The boy, who I now know is Daniel (or, it better be, otherwise who the hell is Daniel?), nods mutely, looking petrified. Huan sighs heavily, looking extremely bored as he messes with his metallic necklace.

Suyin doesn't wait to see if Daniel is comfortable before she hauls me into one of the rooms, with Opal following a second behind.

Suyin shuts the door behind her and I notice the room is essentially one giant bathroom, the fanciest I've ever seen.

Suyin locks the door and turns on the faucet, letting the loud rush of water cover our conversation.

"So, how are you, Korra?" Suyin asks, somewhat anxiously.

I shrug indifferently. "As alright as I can be. I mean, what do you expect? I'm about to get rid of a certain prominent figure."

Suyin shakes his head. "Please do be careful with your words, Korra. President Amon has eyes and ears everywhere; if you let slip even one word, he'll be onto you before you know it, and the plan will shatter."

"I know," I acknowledge. I turn to Opal, offering my hand. "You must be Su's daughter, Opal Beifong."

Opal nods, shyly taking up my offered hand. However, her eyes gleam with excitement and curiosity, and I know she must be brimming with questions—questions that her mother must not have answered. I can't say I blame Suyin, though; I would do the same in her place. Lives shouldn't be so recklessly jeopardized.

Suyin and I talk some more, going over some of the details.

"I'm afraid there's not much I can do to help you once you're in the Arena," Suyin says, "And, Lin can't do anything, either. Katara, as your mentor, can let favors into the Arena, but that's only if you can get any in the first place. You've got the looks, but I've heard your personality is less than admirable."

I roll my eyes. "And did you hear that from Lin or Tenzin?"

Suyin avoids my question. "You'll still have to be careful in the Arena. If President Amon finds out who you are, he can easily rig the games so that you die. The same goes for your cousins, who I assume you already know are participating. I don't want to say this, but, personally, I think those two were sent in as spies. Baatar has a suspicion that the president might already be onto us, even though we've been careful all this time."

"I'll be extra careful, then," I promise, but Suyin doesn't look any less worried. "Besides, isn't Varrick the Head Gamemaker this year?"

Surprisingly, it's Opal who responds, with an eyebrow raised at me.

"He's, like, the most ridiculous guy out there," Opal says. "I wouldn't count on him to completely have your back."

"But he's on our side, right?" I ask.

Suyin sighs. "Yes, but he does tend to get carried away sometimes. Zhu Li will hopefully keep him on track this time. It's an important mission, after all."

I shrug. "As long as he doesn't get in the way, I don't really care. I can take care of myself in the Arena. It's everyone else who should be worried."

"Lin did warn me about your arrogant attitude," Suyin mutters. She squares her shoulders and studies me.

"That's enough about the rebellion. Let's get this makeover done with, shall we?"

.

My heart beats rapidly in my chest as I make my way back to my room, my shoes making loud echoes in the empty halls. My skin feels raw and painful, but at least my stylist is done with me for the time being.

My room at the Capitol, like the train and Justice Building, is fancy and laid out with expensive and ornate furniture. I gingerly set myself down on a plush chair, in front of a large screen. The Reapings in the other districts have long since finished by now, though I missed the latter half of it when I was with my stylist and his assistants.

Turning on the machine, I find the recordings of the Reapings and begin to watch, only half-paying attention. There's really no need for me to pay too much attention at this point; I'll be meeting them in person soon, when we start our training.

Images of young teenage boys and girls flash past my mind, and I only catch a few names here and there. There's a bald boy from One, and a lame girl from Two; a confident, somewhat intimidating eighteen-year-old female tribute from Seven, and what looks like a cowardly version of Tahno in Eight; and even a pair of twins from Four.

"Trying to think your way through, sweetheart?" a voice drawls, and I stiffen, recognizing Tahno's annoying voice. I force myself to calm down and refuse to turn to him, keeping my eyes fixed on the screen.

There's a presence behind me, and Tahno places his hands on the back of my chair, though he doesn't touch me. There's the strong smell of cologne and perfume, and I fight back the urge to gag.

Tahno hums a little, obviously enjoying my displeasure. He continues to stand behind me as the rest of the Reapings go by. The atmosphere is strained and silent, and very noticeably uncomfortable. Still, I'm glad Tahno doesn't try to initiate another conversation.

However, that changes once we get to District Twelve. The first tribute to be called is the girl, and she walks up to the stage, a defiant seventeen-year-old with deep brown hair and the most mesmerizing of smiles. She flashes one at the crowd, a bright grin that immediately catches my attention.

It seems I'm not the only one captivated by her appearance. I can feel Tahno straighten behind me, and he lets out a low whistle, to my disgust.

"Don't tell me you're interested in her," I taunt, "Weren't you the one who wanted nothing to do with the kids from Twelve?"

Tahno says nothing, but I doubt he's reconsidering his words. He's just like the other wealthy boys back in Three; he's only interested in girls for their looks, nothing more.

A part of me hopes this will distract Tahno enough that he's killed early on the games, but as soon as I think this, I immediately take it back. As much as I dislike Tahno, I don't hate him enough to actually want him dead. I don't hate any of the tributes, but I know the only way I'll make it back to my father is if I win. And to win, I must be willing to make sacrifices.

.

It's almost time for the dramatic show at the end of the day. There's a couple hours left, and my stylist wants me back so he can put me in one of many different outfits. It's unnerving, standing naked in front of a man, but there's nothing I can do about it. At least he isn't allowed to inappropriately touch me.

As I make my way towards my stylist's room, I think ahead to the following weeks. I'll have to put on a mostly weak appearance to throw people off my track. Though, to be honest, it shouldn't be too hard. Everyone expects me to be the pampered daughter of Hiroshi Sato, anyway.

I'm so lost in my thoughts, I don't notice the person in front of me as I turn the corner. The two of us crash into each other, and the other—a girl—lets out a loud string of curses, before quickly composing herself and helping me up.

"I'm so sorry," I apologize, "I should have watched where I was going."

"Nah," the girl says, smoothing out her clothes. "It was my fault, too. I was kind of going a bit fast there."

She offers a smile and that's when I recognize her, the girl with the bright smile.

It's Korra.

"I'm Korra," Korra says, extending a hand. "From Twelve."

"Asami, from District Three," I reply, accepting her hand. Her grip is firm, and I notice she has calluses and scars on her hands, which isn't shocking considering where she's from. A part of me wants to ask where she got those injuries from, but I refrain from doing so.

"Ah," Korra says knowingly. "Sato, right?"

I nod, sighing internally. Here we go.

"Must be hard, having such a famous inventor as your father," Korra says and for a moment, I'm too astounded to say anything. She doesn't make any comment about my wealth, or about my upbringing. No one's ever asked what it's like to grow up in the public eye.

"It can be tough," I answer carefully, "But I manage."

Korra nods, though it looks like it's an action directed more towards herself than me. "Well, I have to go meet up with my stylist now. She doesn't like it when I'm late."

She pats me on the shoulder before she catches herself, and retracts her hand, clearing her throat. "I'll see you later, Asami. It was nice meeting you."

She gives me one last smile, and before I can reply, she's already gone, leaving me confused. Korra seems like she's from the poorest section of Twelve, and yet, she's one of the most plainspoken people I've ever met. And her eyes—they were the clearest blue I've ever seen, filled with a sort of fiery determination unusual in the tributes from the poorer districts.

I shake my head, erasing these thoughts from my head. I can't get attached to a girl I barely know. She'll be my opponent out in the Arena in a couple weeks, aiming for my life.

Still, a part of me thinks, I wouldn't mind dating a girl like her.

* * *

 **As always, please review!**


	4. Let's Talk Strategy

**Chapter 4: Let's Talk Strategy, and to the Pretty Girl Over There**

The Lieutenant stands at attention as President Amon paces back and forth in his office.

"We need to catch the assassin as soon as possible, sir," the Lieutenant says. "He'll jeopardize everything we've built so far. Let me replace Varrick as the Head Gamemaker. I'll make sure none of the rebels escape."

President Amon stops pacing, turning to give his second-in-command a cold stare. His mask is off, and the Lieutenant shifts uneasily in his place, watching his president's scarred face contort in anger.

"Are you questioning my decision in appointing Varrick as the Head Gamemaker?" President Amon's voice is measured and calculating, and the Lieutenant is suddenly met with the image of a predator narrowing in on its prey.

"No, sir," the Lieutenant quickly assures. He hesitates, wondering how much he should say. "It's just, well, you know how Varrick is, sir. He's a bit of a wild card."

"He is."

The Lieutenant waits, but the president says nothing more. Instead, he shifts through the list of tributes on his desk.

"Did you check the background of every one of these tributes?" President Amon asks, and the Lieutenant is swift to answer.

"Yes, sir. I've prepared a report on which tributes are suspicious. It'll be done by the end of the day and—"

"Just tell me now," President Amon cuts in impatiently.

The Lieutenant nods. "Yes, of course, sir. The Careers are all checked out; they're the typical eager volunteers, though it's a bit odd the girl from Two would join. And, as you know, the ones from Four are Unalaq's kids."

"They'll make good spies," President Amon says. "They're as loyal as their father, perhaps even more so."

"As for the other tributes, well, I can't really say there's anything that stands out. Though, there is the girl from Twelve."

President Amon flips through the papers on his desk until he gets to the second to last page, where a dark-skinned seventeen-year-old stares back at him.

"Her name is Korra," the Lieutenant continues. "It says she was abandoned as a child and picked up by a man named Tenzin."

"Why would a poor man take in orphans?"

"That's the thing, sir," the Lieutenant says. "Apparently, he does that often. He's also adopted two other children, a pair of brothers. Though, the mayor of Twelve says Tenzin is an honest, hard-working man. He works efficiently in the mines, and never complains."

President Amon tosses the paper aside. "It's not unusual for orphans to appear. This girl was just lucky she was taken in by a kind, albeit poor, man. Are there any others?"

"Oh, yes, sir," the Lieutenant says. "There's also the boy from Eight."

President Amon finds the appropriate page, and stares at the picture. "Isn't this Hou-Ting's nephew?"

"Yes, sir," the Lieutenant confirms. "As you remember, you demoted his aunt a couple of years ago, and they've been struggling over the years."

"And you think this might lead him to join the resistance and overthrow me?" President Amon asks disdainfully. "Unlikely. He might be pretentious, but he's a coward who can't do anything."

"Still," the Lieutenant says, "We should keep an eye on him."

Just like before, President Amon ignores the paper in his hands, letting it settle back onto the pile. "Is that all?"

"There's the girl from Seven," the Lieutenant says. "But after her, that's about it. No one else is even remotely suspicious."

"I'll decide that for myself," President Amon asserts, and the Lieutenant is quick to nod his head. "But just in case, I want you to be with Varrick at all times. Keep an eye on him."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

 **[Korra]**

Ugh. I can't believe myself. I shake my head furiously as I head into Suyin's room. I almost touched her. I almost touched _Asami Sato_.

Okay, woah, back up there, Korra. That just sounded really weird. Like, creepy weird.

Still, I don't know what I was thinking back there. It couldn't have been the fact that she's just so damn _nice_. She's the utter opposite of what I had expected, and we had barely exchanged a few words. And I can't help but wonder if she's just genuinely nice all the time, or maybe it was all just an act. If only I could spend some more time with her—

I stop myself abruptly. Nope. Not going there. Definitely, _for sure,_ am not going to entertain that train of thought. It's best if I stop thinking about her from now on. I mean, what's so special about her anyway? She's just another female tribute here. Albeit, a rather _attractive_ one with amazing long hair and—

I slam my palm into my forehead dejectedly, trying to drown out my treacherous thoughts. I'm not here to make any friends, and, even if I were, I wouldn't get friendly with a Sato.

"Is everything all right, Korra?" a soft voice asks, and I put my hand down to see Opal Beifong staring at me in concern.

"Fine. Totally fine," I lie, shrugging. Opal seems to see past my obvious fib, but she lets it slide.

"Your outfit's ready," Opal says. "My mom's checking on Daniel, and then she'll come back for your turn."

"Great," I mumble. "Ridiculous costumes."

Opal offers me a small smile. "Our fashion isn't _that_ bad, Korra."

I raise an eyebrow at her. "You've never been outside the Capitol, have you?"

"No," Opal confesses. She bites her lower lip, shifting a little in her spot, and I immediately catch on.

"But you'd like to go outside and see the world, don't you?"

Opal's eyes widen slightly, as if I had uncovered her deepest, darkest secrets. Though, frankly, that probably _was_ her deepest, darkest secret. I mean, Capitol people don't have much to hide. Just look at the stupid outfits they strut around in.

Opal's eyes dart around after her confession, checking to see if anyone else is near before she continues. "To be honest, I would _love_ to go outside. But my mom won't agree. She'd rather keep me safe in my room all day long than go five feet outside the mansion."

Of course, she lives in a freaking mansion. I don't know why that detail surprises me, but it does.

Opal lets out a wistful sigh. "I've seen some videos and read a couple books, and the world is just so vast. There's so much to know, but I won't ever be able to experience any of it."

I say nothing, since it's not in my place to tell her what to do. Besides, Suyin has a legitimate excuse for sheltering her daughter.

Suddenly, a thought crosses my mind. What if I _don't succeed? What if I die before President Amon does?_

It seems it's a day for hypothetical questions and inquiries. Normally, I don't ponder things like this, but I guess I'm just doing way too much thinking today.

I shake my head to erase my thoughts, but then stop.

Still, for just today, I'll allow myself to entertain that thought. I'm okay with dying as long as Amon dies, too. I mean, what do I have to live for, really? My whole life was always about acting as the avenger. I'll avenge my parents' deaths. I'll avenge Aang and Sokka's deaths. I'll avenge all the past tributes who died horribly and unjustly, and protect the future generations of children.

Except, if I _do_ fail, not only will I die, the Beifongs and everyone else directly involved will suffer the consequences, too. It won't take Amon long to figure out who did what, and when he does, he'll come after Opal and her brothers (how many of them are there anyway? There's porcupine-hair Huan, and someone named… Junior? And I think Lin once complained about a boy accidently setting fire to something before?). Opal might not have much of a chance at traveling outside her home in the future. It's best for her to take advantage of what time she has left.

"Your mom probably has reasons for doing so," I begin, trying to draw from my nonexistent wisdom. Time for a fabulous speech from me.

Opal frowns, about to argue, but I don't let her start.

"However, maybe you should confront her about this. I mean, have you ever told her how you felt?" I ask. "Communication is always key. Even if arguments erupt as a result, but things will work out. Trust me, I speak from experience. Family looks out for each other."

Except for my traitor uncle Unalaq. But Opal doesn't need that right now. And, besides, when I said family, I was talking about Tenzin and Pema, and their three kids who are practically younger siblings to me; _that_ family always has my back, no matter what.

Opal looks like she's contemplating my words, and it seems like she's come to a realization. Without warning, she takes my hands.

"Thank you, Korra," Opal says. "That was surprisingly helpful."

"Surprisingly?" I repeat, offended. "I'll have you know I'm always helpful."

"Not from what Aunt Lin has told me," Opal grins.

The door opens suddenly, and the two of us spring apart, our heads snapping towards the noise to see who it is.

It's Suyin, and she looks less than amused.

"What are you doing, Korra?" Suyin demands, her hands on her hips in a way that is all too reminiscent of another Beifong. "Why haven't you dressed yet? We have so much to prepare, and there's only two hours left!"

I roll my eyes. "Two hours is plenty of—"

"Don't you roll your eyes at me, Korra," Suyin scolds, and from my peripheral, I can tell Opal is trying not to laugh. Suyin turns on her daughter.

"And what have you been doing, Opal? You were supposed to help Korra get dressed! How will she get any sponsors if she doesn't make a lasting impression?"

"I don't think she'll have trouble making a 'lasting impression' on the crowd," Opal says. "Though I can't say it'll be for the right reasons."

I roll my eyes again, earning a glare from Suyin as she tugs me towards my costume. Seriously, why does everyone think I'm a troublemaker? I'm _not._ I just don't like being bossed around.

* * *

 **[Asami]**

Breakfast the morning after the Reaping is a silent affair. Even Tahno isn't making any crude jokes as he sits sulkily in his chair, grumpily stabbing a piece of bread with his fork.

Aiwei is the only one who appears to be even remotely chipper as he casually sips his tea.

"Where's our Victor, anyways?" Tahno asks, finally breaking the silence. "We haven't seen him yet. Wasn't he supposed to greet us yesterday?"

"Your Victor is a she," Aiwei calmly corrects. "And she's been having health problems as of late."

"Health problems? Oh, great," Tahno whines. "She'll be no help at all."

I put down the cup I was drinking from. "If you had paid any attention to the affairs of our district, you would know our only surviving Victor is nearly eighty years old at this point."

Tahno scowls. "What happened to everyone else? Don't tell me Three hasn't had a Victor in the last eighty years? Do we suck that much?"

"It hasn't been eighty years," I say, even though I don't know why I bother trying to educate him. What would he even use math for at this point?

"Three has had two Victors after her," Aiwei explains. "But they both died two years ago."

"What happened?" Tahno asks curiously and I internally shake my head at how insensitive he is.

"They committed suicide," Aiwei says flatly. "The lives of Victors aren't as grand as you think, Tahno."

"Oh."

For once, all pretense is gone from Tahno's face. He quietly returns to eating his breakfast, no longer looking like this is a game.

I also continue eating, though I keep an eye on Aiwei as he takes another sip from his cup, his expression blank.

Finally, after a few more painful moments of silence, Aiwei places his cup down. "So, let us talk strategy, shall we?"

"But you're not our Mentor," I point out, hoping I'm not coming off as rude. Aiwei doesn't seem to take offense as he continues.

"That may be so, but your Mentor is currently out of commission, and I have been an escort for a long time," Aiwei says, carefully taking off his glasses and wiping it down with a cloth he procures from underneath his lavish green robes. "I know enough to help you two out a little, and as of now, you two will need all the help you can get."

He finishes polishing his glasses and puts them back where they belong, his eyes scrutinizing us from where he sits. "Do either of you have any experience with fights of any sort?"

Tahno shrugs, and it's like a switch has been flipped: he's back to his old confident self again. "I don't want to brag or anything, but I know some pretty sick moves. I used to brawl with my buddies back in Three."

"You mean your dirty street fights where you ganged up on the poor?" I ask, not bothering to hide my hatred for such an activity.

Tahno shrugs again, smirking. "Call it what you will, sweetheart. It doesn't change the fact that no one cares. Those pathetic losers had it coming, anyways."

I scowl darkly but make no comment. Though Aiwei might be trying to help, I don't want to reveal my secret self-defense lessons too soon. The less the number of people who know about it, the better chance I have at using it to surprise my enemies in the Arena.

"Very well," Aiwei says, and I notice he's returned to his tea. "I suggest both of you learn as much as you can in the lessons to come, especially you, Asami. Tahno, try to hone your fighting skills in the following weeks; it'll be your greatest advantage since you're not too bright."

Tahno makes a noise of indignant protest, but Aiwei plows right past him.

"However, don't forget to pick up some survival skills here and there. As for you, Asami, I think you and I both know it's helpless for you to focus on the fighting. A woman of your stature won't be able to last against the larger tributes that are present this year. Learn a little here and there, just enough to get by, but I suggest you use your brain more. I'm sure you can come up with some way to build a trap, seeing as how you're Hiroshi's daughter."

I say nothing, though inside, I'm annoyed. Aiwei, just like everyone else, just sees me as Hiroshi's helpless little girl. Well, he's going to be in for a real surprise once the games start.

Aiwei finishes the last of his tea, placing it back onto the table with a soft clink. He stands up and looks me directly in the eye. "Most of all, I recommend you not to go for the Cornucopia. When the games start, just run. Run as fast and as far away from the other tributes as you can. Tahno might be able to snag a few items without being killed, but you won't have such luck. Just run while you can. Live to fight another day, as they say."

I nod politely. I know Aiwei is right, of course. But still, I can't help but wonder just what items I could get from the Cornucopia. Each year, it's different, and the items usually help immensely in the games. It's an advantage I could have easily used.

.

After breakfast, Tahno and I are escorted to a training room of sorts, where we're given simple instructions and then left to ourselves. Tahno immediately dashes for the combat instructor, though he's beat to it by the girl from Seven, who glares at him intensely, forcing him to hastily retreat.

I look around the room, noting the different stations and skillsets I could learn. To my right, the twins from Four are expertly weaving baskets out of straw, though their faces show they have little interest in it. Just beyond them are the Careers from One and Two, who seemed to have formed an alliance already, which is unsurprising. They dominate the obstacle course, leering at anyone unlucky enough to walk nearby.

The other stations are scattered with people. There's a boy over by my left, learning about plants and how to forage.

I decide to make my way over to him, since plants are one of the things I don't know much about and such a skill would help me in the Arena.

I quietly stand next to him as the two of us listen to the instructor talk, pointing out which plants are edible, and which have medicinal properties, and which ones are deadly.

The boy listens attentively, and I notice how he young he is. I'm guessing he's twelve, and it hurts me to see such a young boy in the games, amongst the older, more aggressive teens.

However, as I watch, I observe how careful he is, and how quickly he seems to pick up the skills, pointing out some of the plants correctly.

"Poppy," he says, "for pain. I don't think the Arena would have poppy though. Seems pretty weird to me. And this one's nightlock which is never to be eaten."

The instructor nods approvingly and turns to me. I stare at the green plant before me.

"Uh, that's a … berry," I say, and the instructor isn't impressed by my effort. He goes over the name again, but something catches my eye. Someone's walking towards us, and before I know it, Korra from Twelve is next to me, smiling disarmingly at me.

"Hello," Korra says, her voice smooth and polite. I find myself staring at her blue eyes, which resemble the ocean, ever-changing but still just as beautiful.

"Hi, there." The boy speaks up, bringing me back to the present situation at hand.

"I'm Korra," Korra introduces, offering a hand to the boy, who looks at it suspiciously for a few seconds before taking it.

"Kai," the boy says. "You interested in an alliance?"

Korra raises an eyebrow, and it's like I don't exist anymore. I busy myself with looking at the plants, trying to pretend I'm not awkwardly standing between the two as they converse.

"An alliance already?" Korra asks. "We've only known each other for a few seconds."

Kai grins cheekily. "Yeah, but you said 'hi' first. Why would you say that if you weren't trying to be friendly? And besides, I saw you go through four stations like they were nothing. Seems to me like you got some skills there."

"For the record, I did not say 'hi'," Korra says. "And I might have skills, but what about you? What do you have to offer, Kai?"

Kai smiles mysteriously. "I think you'd be surprised by what I know."

Korra flashes a grin at him, letting out a light laugh. "I like you, Kai. You seem like a good kid. However, I'm not looking to form an alliance. I'm afraid I'll have to turn down your offer."

Kai's smile drops. "Oh. Well, yeah, that's understandable. There can only be one Victor, right?"

"Not if I can help it," Korra mutters under her breath. It's so quiet that I barely hear it, but she's standing so close to me that I do, and I can't help but wonder what she means.

Korra shrugs. "Yeah, exactly. I think we'd both prefer it if we weren't the ones to kill each other."

Kai nods solemnly and, with nothing else to add, returns to studying the plants.

I'm looking at a diagram showing the differences between nightlock and blueberries, when I feel Korra slide up to me.

"Hey," Korra says, her voice softer. "Asami, right?"

I look up from the plants, surprised that she would talk to me. "And you're Korra."

Korra nods, beaming. "Yup."

She picks up a book on plants, flipping through it to put on an act of learning, which I see through right away, especially since I suspect she might not even be literate.

"Nice costume last night," Korra says conversationally, and she sounds so sincere that I can't tell if she's being sarcastic or not.

"Thank you," I say sarcastically. "It was fun wearing such silly headwear."

Korra smirks mischievously. "Your costume was great. In fact, I thought you were a robot."

I roll my eyes but the small smile on my face betrays me.

"Yours wasn't bad, either," I reply. "I certainly didn't expect it to catch on fire, though."

Korra grins, and I just can't help but think, I don't want her to stop smiling. Ever.

"I must admit," Korra says, moving closer to me, her eyes lighting up playfully. Her arms brush against mine as she reaches for the book in front of me. "You did make a rather sexy robot."

A strange, warm feeling surges through me at her compliment, even though I know she's joking. Surely, she must be joking. The costume was ridiculous. No, not just ridiculous; it was plain _hideous_.

"Strange, your definition of that," I say, trying to keep calm, but heat rushes to my face and Korra seems to notice as well.

She puts the book she just retrieved back onto the table, clearly bored with this station, though I can't imagine why.

"It's a good look on you," Korra says, "Though, if I'm being honest, I think you'd look good in anything."

She winks at me and all I can do is stare at her as she straightens and leaves, parting with a final grin.


End file.
